At the Bottom of the Garden: A Novel

by Camilla Bruce

“Just because you can’t see K2, it doesn’t mean that I can’t,” I replied. “You can see colors that I can’t, so maybe I can see something you can’t,

But that, I suppose, is how children are: They cling to the people they know, no matter how toxic they are. Some never grow out of it either, but keep chasing those who do them harm even as adults.

“Oh, I’m sure I wouldn’t know.” Dina sounded as dry as a twig, and a few lime-green flames leapt up on her skin. “Your aunt might, though.”

The clay was still there the next morning, while Dina scooped melon balls into my mouth, only now the shape had grown some limbs and started looking like something more real. So fascinated was I by this new creation in my brain that I almost forgot to ask after Violet’s health,

keep picturing the Grinch with his wonderful, awful idea

placed ads in several local newspapers all over the country, and lo and behold, the replies had come pouring in. I suppose it was the wording the customers—or “clients,” as it said in my book—found enticing: Gifted young medium speaks with voice of departed. Accurate and reliable. Reasonably priced.

Wouldn't Dina be able to send these to Mr. Skye and bust Clara? This book is kind of dragging, but I still want to know the end

hopefully the vomiting had been a single event.

didn't it happen both times

“One thing my mother taught me is that if you break the rules, there’s no one else to blame for being fat.”

“Papa always said that you have to try…” “…and if you succeed, there will be cake,”

had been an unfortunate thing that my mother found the half-burned doll I had knitted, stuffed with Ben’s soft hair and baby teeth.

They cannot ask for that, the lady said in my head. But that does not mean you should not give it.

“Lily, there are lots of Aunt Claras.”